Happy Sunday, Everyone!
CHAPTER 9. The Victor.
The first few weeks outside the arena were a whirlwind of emotions and events.
Peeta only spent a few days in the hospital.
Besides a couple of broken ribs and a few cuts and bruises, he hadn't sustained any severe injuries.
The elite team of Capitol doctors recruited by the game makers had looked bored, and even slightly disappointed, as they diagnosed his case.
As soon as he'd been released from the clinic, he'd been thrown into a seemingly endless parade of events. Days turned into nights as two weeks' worth of interviews and presentations passed him by.
Thinking back, it was hard to distinguish one event from another. The repetitive comments of his adoring fans and sycophantic newscasters had a tendency to blur in his mind.
But, among all those hazy memories, there was one moment Peeta knew he would never forget.
Somehow, Peeta had just managed to watch the full recap of the 74th Hunger Games in front of a live audience without having a meltdown.
After, once the images of bloodied children had floated away from the screen, President Snow had gotten up on the stage and placed a golden crown on Peeta's head.
The young victor's heart beat madly in his chest as the aging president pulled him into a tight hug.
The old man reeked of roses and freshly spilled blood.
Resisting the urge to hurl his dinner right then and there, Peeta pulled away slightly and looked into the president's eyes. The coldness he found in the snake-like orbs chilled his blood.
"Congratulations, my boy," President Snow said. His thin lips turned up in a grotesque smirk.
Peeta lowered his eyes to the ground.
"It's been a long time since we've had a victor from your district," the president added, his sibilant voice crawling under Peeta's skin, "I hope you understand how privileged you are."
"I do, Sir," Peeta answered. His voice sounded hollow in his ears as he finished, "I'm very grateful."
Seemingly satisfied, the president turned to face the audience. "People of Panem," he announced gesturing in Peeta's direction, "I give you the winner of the 74th Hunger Games. Please welcome our new victor, Peeta Mellark!"
XXXXX
District 12's train station was small and dusty. Peeta had never thought of it that way before, but now, after having spent a month in the Capitol, he could see it for what it truly was; the entryway to the poorest, smallest, most neglected district in the country.
But, shabby and unkempt as the station and its district were, Peeta was still thrilled to be back. His whole body hummed with anxious energy as he waited for the station doors to open and welcome him back home.
As soon as he walked out onto the stage which had been prepared for him, he knew that nothing would ever be the same.
The Capitol crowds which had surrounded him had been loud and rowdy. But District 12 welcomed him with a silent reverence he'd never experienced before.
It wasn't that they weren't happy to see him, he could see the joy reflected on their faces, it was more like they saw him as something different, unexpected, surprising, and they just didn't know how to react in front of him.
Effie's voice, loud and shrill over the train station's PA system made Peeta flinch.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the extravagant escort announced, "I've brought back your victor, Peeta Mellark!".
A loud round of enthusiastic claps and cheers exploded on the square.
Peeta lowered his eyes to the ground, suddenly overwhelmed by his district's exuberance.
After a couple of minutes, the applause died down, the victor turned his eyes to the crowd. "Thank you all for being here to welcome me," he said, "I hope I made you proud."
A new round of applause erupted in the square, people yelled loud assurances into the sky.
Peeta smiled, cleared his throat and announced, "Let the celebration begin!"
XXXXX
It didn't take long for Peeta to learn that, contrary to what most people believed, a victor's daily life wasn't glamorous and exciting.
Despite being minors, victors weren't allowed to go back to school to finish their education. They weren't authorized to have jobs, and they couldn't break free from the Capitol's constant interference in their lives.
According to the bylaws established by Panem's elders, victors had to devote their lives to the service of their country. Every year they were carted off to the Capitol so they could participate in any and all activities related to the Games. They had to act as representatives for their districts, striking deals with potential sponsors, and as mentors advising the tributes by using the expertise gained through their own experiences in the arena.
In the Capitol, victors were revered and celebrated. They were paraded and ogled at as exotic creatures who had accomplished great feats. But, in the districts, they were ignored. Left to their own devices to figure out what their lives meant while everyone else moved on with their day.
Or, at least, that's what it was like in District 12.
Peeta shook his head, feeling sorry for himself was a newly acquired habit which was leading him nowhere. Just because the victors in his district lived like castaways, alone and forgotten in their empty Victors' Village, it didn't mean everyone else did.
Being a victor in a career district was probably a lot of fun, what with all the illegal training and prepping they did all year round.
The truth was that he had no idea what life was like for other victors. Other than Haymitch, who spent his days glued to the narrow end of a liquor bottle, he hadn't met a single one. But he knew what it was like for him, and the cold reality which greeted him every morning broke his heart.
The friends he'd once known, the boys and girls who had laughed and played with him for as long as he could remember had gone back to their lives as soon as his welcome back party was over. He had seen them walking away from the square, smiling and laughing the afternoon away as he had to stay behind, with Effie Trinket in tow, and talk to the reporters who had come all the way down from the Capitol to record the happy occasion.
Later, once the intruders had left, he'd asked his family to share in his good fortune and move in with him to his house in Victors' Village. "There's more than enough space for all of us," he'd said, proud and eager to share something so precious with his family.
They had turned him down on the spot.
"Pointless" was the word his mother used to reject her youngest son's gracious offer.
Mrs. Mellark's refusal hadn't really surprised him. She did have a point, after all. Running a bakery without living on the premises wasn't very practical.
But Peeta had expected more from the others. Some sort of recognition of the fact that he'd genuinely wanted to be with them. That he hadn't offered because he felt obligated, but because he honestly wanted them there.
So, Peeta Mellark, 74th victor of the Hunger Games, picked up the pieces of his shattered pride and went home to face the dark dreams and the gut-wrenching fear he felt every time he closed his eyes. Alone.
XXXXX
Peeta woke up with a start.
His mouth was dry, his heart racing.
He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes as he tried to control his breathing. Slowly, the gory images of his nightmare faded away, leaving him frazzled and spent.
He turned towards the open window. A cold gust of breeze kissed his cheeks and made him shiver.
The pale moonlight illuminated his room making the walls shine like silver, the dancing shadows of the trees moving outside made them shimmer like mirrors. In his half-asleep state, Peeta almost expected to see his reflection, but it was the insistent glow of Katniss's eyes that looked back at him instead.
Peeta let out a tired sigh.
He had been back for a month. He had moved into a new house and started a new life. But old habits die hard and, even though his path hardly ever crossed with Katniss's now that he wasn't in school anymore, he still hadn't managed to put her out of his mind.
Every day, his brain would find a connection to the huntress and torment him with it.
It could be anything, from the song of a bird to a gust of wind announcing the approach of a storm. But it never failed. And the fact that he still hadn't spoken to her made him feel like a failure.
The truth was that, after everything that had happened, he still didn't know what to say to Katniss.
He didn't have the words to explain what her visit to the Justice Building had meant to him. And he couldn't tell her about the years he'd spent wanting to approach her or about the hours he'd devoted to watching her at school without sounding like a creep.
And what would Katniss think if she ever found out about the meters of recycled construction paper he'd filled with images of her eyes, her braid, her hands or her lips?
She'd probably think he was crazy. And she'd be right.
Besides, he was a victor now, burdened with responsibilities and bad dreams. Why would she ever want to be a part of something like that?
He would never drag her into that kind of life.
Katniss Everdeen deserved to be happy. And right now, he couldn't see how he could be any part of that.
XXXXX
Peeta sipped his bitter tea and looked around. The tall maple trees surrounding his house sparkled under the early morning sun, their leaves having turned golden overnight.
He smiled, thinking about the beauty autumn always brought along with it.
It had been almost two months since he'd gotten back. And, although his life wasn't all he had wished for, things weren't looking so gloomy anymore.
Following Effie's advice, he had chosen a talent.
Looking through the catalog of options available to him had been an eye-opener, a reminder of exactly what the Capitol expected from him now that he was working for them.
Talents were designed to keep the victors busy and the audiences entertained. Some of the activities could be considered more useful than others. But even the most sensible ones, like cooking or sewing, were only supposed to be practiced using extravagant ingredients or designs.
Still, Peeta looked dutifully through the pages of the thick catalog until he found a couple of things which caught his eye.
It wasn't hard for him to choose painting. He'd always had an eye for beauty and, even as a child, he'd always been interested in colors and shapes. Growing up, he'd never had access to any real painting supplies, but he'd used colored chalk and pencils whenever he could get his hands on them.
Frosting cakes had been the only real way in which he could explore his passion for art, but he hadn't been doing much of that since becoming a victor.
The second thing which appealed to him was gardening. But he refused to do it in the way the Capitol suggested, only planting certain types of plants or flowers which had to be delivered from the Capitol's plant nurseries. So he decided to save this particular talent for his personal entertainment. After all, long days which blended into sleepless nights had to be filled with some sort of activity, and he still wasn't ready to empty liquor bottles for a living.
Trying to mend his relationship with his family, he decided to offer them his services as a cake decorator.
The terms of the deal stated that he would only help out when they had a special order, and he wouldn't get paid for his work. This meant that, if anyone from the Capitol ever found out about the arrangement, he could just claim to be practicing his talent with what Effie had described as an "edible medium."
His offer was accepted and, a few days later, he received the first message requesting his services. Apparently, his mother hadn't been joking around when she'd very stiffly announced that they'd "let him know when he was needed."
A small part of him had actually feared they'd never call. But he knew his mother couldn't pass on an offer of free qualified labor. And, even though the old baker hadn't said anything, Peeta sensed his dad missed having him around.
XXXXX
Working at the bakery, if only sporadically, provided Peeta with a sense of normalcy his life had been lacking since he'd been reaped.
As much as he loved painting, there was no place where he felt more like his old self than in his family's kitchen. After all, that's where he'd spent most of his time up until he'd been taken away.
One added benefit of working at the bakery was spending time with his brothers on a regular basis.
The truth was that Bran and Rye had been thrilled to welcome him back after the Game. They'd been the first in line at the train station when he arrived, and they'd even spent some time getting to know Effie Trinket and her Capitol entourage as a show of solidarity with their baby brother.
Sadly, rejecting Peeta's housing offer had driven a wedge between the brothers. It wasn't so much that Peeta resented his brothers' decision to stay in town. It was more about the brothers feeling guilty for keeping quiet and not standing up to their mother.
But seeing each other regularly, and sharing the jokes and chores of the past began closing the gap which Peeta's reaping had opened.
Peeta's brothers never asked about his responsibilities as a victor, or about the lonely nights he spent in his luxurious home. But he didn't begrudge them for it. He didn't want to discuss his night terrors and anxiety attacks any more than they did.
XXXXX
It was a Friday afternoon.
Peeta was at the bakery, sitting at his usual place on the worktable. The sound of wood crackling under the flames of the oven filled the air.
The young victor hummed quietly to himself as he worked on a birthday cake for the station agent's daughter. It was a two-tier confection covered in frosted apple blossoms —which, apparently, were the girl's favorite bloom.
He was inspecting his handiwork, making sure all the flowers had been evenly distributed, when he heard a familiar sequence of short taps playing against the windowpane.
Peeta froze, suddenly trapped in a different lifetime.
A barrage of memories rushed to the front of his mind.
There were happy summer feasts; lazy, warm days spent in the backyard eating roasted squirrels which had been shot "straight through the eye."
Cold winter days hiding in the back room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the huntress who no longer needed his help to survive.
Endless sleepless nights; lost, as he tried to find the right words to trace a path into a brave girl's heart.
They all came back to him at once, like an overwhelming avalanche of feelings punching him in the gut.
He closed his eyes and tried to reel them in, to lock them back inside.
Peeta's head was still spinning when he heard Mr. Mellark rushing to answer the call.
The old baker opened the door and stepped out. A capricious gust of autumn wind carried bits and pieces of his hushed conversation into the room.
Fragments of laughter and small words like "good", "maybe" and "next" reached Peeta through the open window.
He took a deep breath, the cold wind hit his lungs, soothing his anxiety away.
A moment later, the door opened again.
The baker walked back into the room. "She drives a hard bargain, that one," he grumbled, "but she's still the best in town."
Peeta looked at his father and smiled. "Right through the eye. Right, dad?" he asked, pointing at the dead squirrel which dangled from his father's hand.
The old man chuckled. "Yes, son. Every single time."
Amused, Peeta shook his head, he didn't know how many times he'd had that conversation with this father. He couldn't really remember when they'd had it last.
He was about to resume his work when one more memory resurfaced from the depths of his mind.
Reaping day!
Without another word, Peeta sprang from his seat and headed towards the door; almost trampling over a startled Mr. Mellark who practically had to leap to get out of his son's way.
Ignoring his father's complaints, Peeta pushed the door open and ran across the backyard.
As soon as he stepped onto the back street, he saw her.
Katniss.
She had almost reached the end of the block, and she wasn't stopping.
The idea of her turning the corner and disappearing sent a shiver down Peeta's spine. He refused to let her go. He had already waited too long, and he wasn't willing to waste any more time.
Peeta's heartbeat pounded madly in his ears as he called out, "Katniss! Do you have a minute?"
XXXXX
Katniss stopped in her tracks, frozen, a deer caught in the crosshairs.
She recognized the voice. She had heard it before, many times in fact. By now, it was as familiar to her as the song of the scarlet tanager or the whisper of the wind through the trees.
She had heard it in school joking around amiably as others joined in and through the TV speakers at home as it whispered happy stories to a terrified girl who missed her family.
Most recently, she'd heard it in her dreams, warm and sweet, echoing inside her chest, reminding her that its owner was alive and well.
Slowly, Katniss turned around. Her body, heavy as lead, kept her rooted to her spot.
Reflexively, she scowled. Her mouth had gone dry, and she was pretty sure she had just swallowed her tongue, but she didn't want to look like a crazy person, so she pushed herself to answer, "Sure."
Peeta smiled. Cautiously, he made his way to where she was standing.
"Hi," he said. His eyes jumped from Katniss's eyes to her lips before finally settling somewhere above her hairline. He cleared his throat and asked, "Um, how are you?"
Katniss eyed him warily. "Fine?" She hadn't meant it as a question, but keeping her tone even when Peeta was standing so close to her was, apparently, not one of her skills.
"Good!" he mumbled, rocking in place slightly as he slipped his hands into his pant's pockets. "So... um, I… I was wondering if… you'd be willing to trade with me?" he asked, inwardly cursing himself for how high pitched his voice sounded all of a sudden.
"With you?" Katniss's eyes narrowed as she wondered why, after all those years, the baker had decided to put his youngest son in charge of the trades. "Instead of with your dad?" she asked.
"Oh, no," Peeta shook his head and chuckled. "Not instead, in addition to." Hesitantly, he lowered his gaze and, for the first time since he'd started talking, he looked directly into Katniss's face.
He had never been this close to her before, and he was surprised to find the gray eyes which haunted his dreams looking right back at him.
Time stopped for a couple of seconds as Katniss and Peeta took in every detail of each other's features.
Their cheeks were flushed, their lips slightly parted as they struggled to keep their hearts contained inside their chests.
Anyone watching would have noticed how they mirrored each other, flustered and humming with nervous energy. But there were no witnesses in that darkened street, and they were so consumed with each other's presence they failed to notice the reciprocity in each other's gaze.
The knife sharpener's whistle rang in the distance.
Katniss looked away.
"Look," Peeta started again, "as you probably know, I don't live in town anymore. Most days I don't even come down here, and I'm getting a bit tired of eating canned food all the time. I'd like to have something fresh every once in a while."
"Fresh?"
"Yeah! Fresh food is better than anything they can stick into a can."
Katniss pursed her lips, she glanced around nervously and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Why not go to the butcher, then?"
"The butcher? C'mon, Katniss!" he chuckled, "Everybody knows your wares are fresher than Rooba's. Besides, she never has any real variety. And… you're the only person I know who can get freshly caught fish," he finished in a hushed, secretive voice.
Gooseflesh erupted all over Katniss's skin. Flustered, she blurted out, "You want fish?"
"Yeah," he confirmed, "Listen," Peeta's voice took on a more serious tone, "I'll trade with you for anything you catch. I don't care if it flies, swims or runs. If it's fresh, I'll take it off your hands. I can give you coin, or we can trade goods."
A door swung open a few houses down the road. The cry of its squeaky hinges caught Katniss's attention.
A few seconds later, the carpenter's 8-year-old daughter came out running through the open doorway. Her happy voice rang clearly as a silver bell as she called out that she'd be home for supper.
Katniss sighed, this wasn't the best place for this conversation. She was about to say so when Peeta beat her to it.
"We don't have to agree to the terms now," he said, "In fact, why don't you come over to my place and we'll work out the details there?"
Katniss considered Peeta's proposal for a moment. There was nothing wrong with having a new customer, especially one with enough money to buy the entire content of her satchel without blinking.
Her mind raced, quickly evaluating what a regular arrangement like this one could mean for her family.
She had never liked conducting her business out on the open street -the Merchant Quarter was full of curious eyes, and her transactions weren't exactly legal- but she'd never been to the Victors' Village. What could she expect from the place where only the wealthiest resided?
Peeta could see the wheels turning inside Katniss's head, sensing her discomfort, he added, "Would that be ok? If you don't want to go to the Village, that's fine. We could meet someplace else."
Katniss looked back at the baker's son. The shy smile dancing on his lips made her heart beat faster.
They were back where everything had begun, she realized, just a few steps away from the bakery's back door and the scraggly apple tree which she had used for cover on that cold, rainy afternoon.
Peeta had helped her once, she reminded herself, and she still owed him for it. Maybe this was what she could do to repay his kindness.
"Victors' Village will be fine," she said.
A happy chuckle poured from Peeta's lips, and he nodded. "Alright!" Tilting his head in the bakery's direction, he added, "I better get going. Those cakes aren't gonna frost themselves, you know?"
Katniss nodded.
"So… See you tomorrow, then?" he asked.
"Yeah," she confirmed, "tomorrow."
With one last nod, Peeta turned around and walked back towards his childhood home.
He had already opened the back door and was about to walk into the kitchen when he stopped to look back out onto the street.
Katniss's silhouette, outlined against the pink afternoon sky, could still be seen in the distance. The way her braid bounced over her shoulder, happily matching the rhythm of her steps, made him smile.
A warm blast of joy burst inside Peeta's chest, expanding throughout his body and reaching down into his soul. For the first time in his life, he felt like a real winner.
XXXXX
AN: So, finally, we are here! I'm dying to know what you think!
Just one more thing before I go: This story is just getting started, but I probably won't be updating again until December. Why is that? Well, two reasons.
First: I'll be busy finishing "Capitol Life". A crossover between Everlark and The Americans. [Yes, I can hear you squealing back there ;)]
This fic will be my contribution to MoreS2SL, so it will be ready in October, but you won't be able to read it until January. Unless you make a donation, of course ;)
Please head on over to if you want to learn more about this beautiful cause.
Second: PiP is back! Yes! Only for one weekend at the end of November, but Prompts in Panem is back and I have a little canon-divergent post Mockingjay story that I've been dying to write for that.
Thanks for reading :)